The Well's End (31 page)

And I laugh to show it. We all do. Just once—we aren't crazy—but there's a need to let this feeling burst forth, and we all revel in it, one huge guffaw before our time runs out.

“Not much longer,” Rob says, and we stand, looking at each other, ready for anything.

Rob is the one with the brains. He should be figuring this out, not me. I think about the map, and how the stick figure was activated. The eyes open. Staring at the moving water. The well. Jo the diver. Rob the brains.
Baby Mia, who fell down the well.

The map. The shining gates. The brilliant city. The flowing water. The map.

“It's not of the tunnels,” I whisper, realization dawning on me, spreading through me like the water did.

“What isn't?” Jo asks, her eyes on the elevator. Just then, we hear a loud
pop
, and smoke comes gushing out from behind the door. Not a big bomb, they wouldn't want to damage anything. Something small and careful and precise. They'll rappel down the elevator shaft any second now. Things are slowing before my eyes.

“The map. It's not a map of the tunnel. It's a map of something else. Somewhere else.”

“Who cares, we have to find a way out!” she replies.

I remember the figures on the map. They were scattered throughout, eyes closed. Except for the one in front of the well, upside down, its eyes wide open. I hadn't thought it truly connected, but it does. Jo's face is a mask of confusion. In that moment, I imagine that she's not thinking of her dad, dead, or her mom, alone in Fenton. She's here with me, and unknowingly is providing me with the key.

Diving.

“Guys. I know this is crazy. But you have to trust me.”

“What are you talking about?”

“The well, the water, think about it. It has to come from somewhere, right?”

“I guess.” Rob nods, admitting the obvious.

“The water's running now, so wherever that someplace is,
now
it is open, the way is clear.”

“I don't get it,” he says, looking back over his shoulder at the elevator. “We have to hide!”

I shake my head. “No hiding. You have to trust me.”

“Mia, what are you talking about?”

“I'll see you on the other side.”

And with that, I take all the fear that's ever been part of me and push it into my feet so that they might be ready, and they are, because they push, hard, and then I'm diving, a dive to make Jo proud: I make almost no splash at all.

EPILOGUE

I FEEL THE ROUGH SURFACE OF THE WALL ON EACH
side of me and have to fight the claustrophobia. The tunnel is too narrow—there's no way I can turn around. Forward or nowhere. I keep swimming, down and down and down, my ears popping. My lungs pressing deep into my chest. I'm an idiot for diving in Odessa's ski jacket, but I wasn't thinking, and now it billows like a parachute, slowing me down. Behind me I hear two
thumps
. My friends risking death to trust me. I only hope the water stills before Sutton arrives. That he'll think we disappeared down some sort of side cave, some small hole in the wall hidden in the darkness of the cavern.

It's black in here. There's no shimmering light. No moon through opaque ice above. I'm in a well, another well. Except this time, the water isn't cold; it's exactly right. Like I'm swimming a race, though even that's wrong. I feel as if the water buzzes against my skin and strengthens my arms, and I'm not tired at all. My eyes are open, and they don't sting. My heart beats steady, the only sound I hear.

What's the first thing you remember, your first memory?

I pause, floating in place. In nothingness. Because suddenly I remember. I
remember
the well. No more flashes or broken memories. I remember it all.

I didn't fall in. I found the hole in the ground, I stared down its depth. My father stood in the driveway, and I heard him say to my mother, “I'm sorry. I have to be there. There's nothing I can do.” She looked so sad, so broken. I have never remembered her as clearly as I do now. As if I were watching it all happen before my eyes. I can smell the pine. I can feel the chill in the air. I can see my mother in her blue dress, her hair up, her glasses hanging from a band around her neck. I want him to stay. It's their anniversary, and he's going to the Cave. He's always at the Cave. My mother is sad, and so am I.

“Dad!” I cried.

I remember him looking over his shoulder at me. And then I jumped.

I almost choke at the memory, and am jolted back into place, confused—for the briefest of moments, I'm sure I'm back there, lost in the well. But no, I'm not lost anymore.

I swim on, my muscles so strong they tingle; I'm a dolphin bursting downward, and suddenly the darkness fades, a light appears at the edge of my vision, mimicking that of the black hole on the map, and moves closer and closer, until suddenly, inexplicably, I burst through.

I'm breathing air.

I tread water and stare in confusion, and I realize I'm on the surface, in a full lake of the well water, somewhere, down deep below the earth.

I'm dizzy and breathing so hard I almost suck the water into my lungs. A couple seconds later, Rob pops up, then Jo, their mouths agape in desperation and surprise. I grab their hands, try to calm them down, but they struggle, not used to the well, to the fear I have lived with all my life.

We three tread water and cast our eyes around the massive cavern we're in. There are giant gates, beautiful, enormous, impossible. The first thing beyond the well, within the map. It's my birthday. The room is lit, glowing bright enough that it might as well be daylight. I know why we're here.

We're here to find the source.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

THANK YOU THE VERY MOST TO—

Kirby Kim, my agent and friend, without whom I'd never have applied to Westbrook.

Stacey Barney, my editor, strategist and advocate, for making this book her own.

My sister, Maya, for that whole thing we did; my brother, Daniel, for never saying uncle.

My nephews, Jonas and Lucas, to find in every bookstore.

My parents, for reading my writing since I was in the ninth grade.

John and Jean Thomas, for the loft (and your daughter).

Matt Block, the human dolphin, for your swimming lessons.

Téa Obreht and Kate Beaton, for their extracurricular awesome.

Ian Dalrymple and Julie Chang, the gatekeepers; Laura Bonner, the world, and Ashley Fox, the Wild West, for all you've done on my behalf.

My extraordinary copyeditors, Cindy Howle, Robert Farren, Chandra Wohleber, and designer Annie Ericsson, who gave me a shave and warned off orphans and stacks, I am entirely grateful.

Vanessa Han and Linda McCarthy, my brilliant cover designers, who hit the nail on the head with the book's incredible face.

And Jennifer Besser, Jay Katsir, Katie Schorr, Eric Gross, Maria Braeckel, Dave Yankelewitz, UEA friends and faculty, Ed White, Liam Brockey, my companions and colleagues at the Gernert Company, my many incredibly talented clients for their teachings and all who have helped from the day after I couldn't add anyone else to this list until forever.